


Oblivion

by aeoleus



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: But also its cute bc eliza is always cute i love her, F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Major character death - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 16:49:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8540992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeoleus/pseuds/aeoleus
Summary: "Either way," Eliza said suddenly. "We've got all the time in the world. We'll age with grace, and we'll live to be a hundred years old in a huge house with dozens of kids around. Even if we're not rich, we'll be happy. Promise me?" Alex sometimes makes promises that he can't keep.





	

Philip was a fussy baby. So, when Eliza got up _again_ in the middle of the night to nurse him, she came back to bed with him coddled to her chest, and she lay back down.  
"What?" She asked to Alex's questioning stare. "I'm not getting up again. I'm tired, Alexander"  
"Fine by me." Alex said. He scooted closer to his wife and lay a hand on the small of his son's back.  
"This is your fault, you know." Eliza said.  
"What's my fault?"  
"Philip being so fussy. He must have gotten it from you. _I_ never cried."  
"Mm," Alex agreed. Philip yawned suddenly, his tiny eyes wrinkling. "But he got the cute part from me."  
Alex watched as his son fell asleep on Eliza's chest, his little fingers gripping her t-shirt. Eliza absently was humming some song as she rubbed Philip's back. Alex propped himself up on his elbow and gazed at the familiar sight. He had a long day ahead tomorrow, but this was more important than any work Washington had for him.  
"What're you staring at?" Eliza whispered.  
"You." Alex said. He leaned forward, brushed some hair out of her face, and kissed her forehead. "How stunning you are. Also, how you're going to look when you're old. Radiant, I suppose. I don't think you could be ugly if you tried."  
Eliza laughed sleepily, and turned to look at him.  
"When I'm old and wrinkly, Alexander Hamilton, you'll still be as beautiful as the day I met you, know know that?"  
"Don't count on it, my dear. I don't think I'd look good old. But there'll be hundreds of grandchildren to look after-"  
" _Hundreds_?" Eliza interrupted. "Exactly how many children are we having, here?"  
"Oh, I don't know." Alex grinned. "Maybe ten or eleven?"  
"Enough so you can start your own firm? 'Hamilton, Hamilton, Hamilton, Hamilton, Hamilton, Hamilton, and Church?" Eliza teased.  
"I have several questions. One: why aren't all of our children working with me at this hypothetical firm, and two: Church?"  
"Well, not all eleven of our kids are going to be lawyers, dear." Eliza said matter-of-factly. "What if they want to be great novelists, or doctors? And, I expect Angelica will come work for you at some point."  
"Fair point." Alex said.  
It was silent for a minute.  
Eliza closed her eyes, and Philip opened his and stared at Alex, then fluttered them shut again.  
"Either way," Eliza said suddenly. "We've got all the time in the world. We'll age with grace, and we'll live to be a hundred years old in a huge house with dozens of kids around. Even if we're not rich, we'll be happy. Promise me?"  
"Promise." Alex whispered.

 

TWENTY-THREE YEARS LATER.

Apparently, God couldn't even muster dreary weather to match the atmosphere. The July sun beat down relentlessly on Eliza's black dress. The dirt she stood upon was so new, so black. She could plant flowers and they'd pop up easily.  
Forty-nine years. That's how long the tombstone told her that her husband got. Not eighty, not a hundred.  
Forty-nine.  
Philip had gotten nineteen.  
And Eliza? She was still here. Little Phil hanging on her hand, James and John behind her, holding up her oldest daughter, Angelica. Not the eleven kids he wanted, but close. 

There would be no growing old together.  
Eliza would get older, the wrinkles deepening, her bones shrinking, her hair graying, but Alex would remain the same as he had when she had last seen him that morning, so early, before the sun. With crow's feet lining his eyes and gray just beginning to poke through his ink-black hair. He would not see any grandchildren. He wouldn't even see his children grow up.

He had left Eliza, with all the time in the world, and nothing to show for it.


End file.
